Two

Liam

 

 

Staring at my reflection in the mirrored door of the elevator, I cringed. In the time span of six months, my life had gone from rock bottom to hellfire. I didn’t even know someone could sink as far as I’d been buried.

And the woman who currently held my balls in a grip so tight it was just this side of too painful to be pleasurable, was standing next to me, scowling at her cell phone.

Figuratively. Not literally. Anne Marker wouldn’t get anywhere near my nuts. Not only was she married to Don Marker, owner and CEO of Marker Entertainment, she was also old enough to be my mother.

She was also the best music agent in the business. She took scrubs like me, found in dirt hole bars plugging away at their dreams and sleeping in our rusted-out Buicks all over Los Angeles, and shot us to the top before the ink was dry on our first contracts.

“I still can't believe you’re forcing me to do this.” In the mirror, my lips curved into a sneer. Where was the damn elevator? The sooner I got this shit over with, the sooner I could get drunk.

Anne didn’t spare me a glance as her fingers violently flew across her cell phone’s keyboard. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

At six-foot-two and a solid muscle mass of two hundred and twenty pounds, no one would dare to call me a buttercup.

I would let Anne get away with murdering my childhood dog if she thought it'd help me out of this mess. At least, I would if Sparky was still alive.

Also, Anne didn’t give a shit. I was the top musician in the country, topping charts and carrying off more awards and trophies from awards shows than I had room for. Anne's only job was to save my ass and bring me out of the seventh layer of hell.

You'd think after some woman accused me of rape, and then withdrew her allegation once there was absolutely no evidence found to support her claim, would have been enough to save me. But apparently, people who didn’t know me from Jesus and who only read what they saw in grocery store checkout aisles didn’t fully believe rock stars like me didn’t go around sticking their dicks in unwilling women.

Please. I got enough pussy offered I didn’t have to take what wasn't mine to have. I wouldn’t even consider it without millions in my bank account.

“This still sounds ridiculous. A woman for a year? The thought makes my balls want to shrivel and die.”

Anne tucked her phone into her purse. “Grow up. You know the game.”

Media. PR. Social media. Public image. I only wanted to make good music and blast it through a microphone into a screaming stadium of thousands.

Anne was right, though. I was sounding like a spoiled, rich prick and I was neither of those things. My mama taught me better. And besides, I’d been successful enough without having to play the media game. After five years of being constantly in the public eye, I was due for a scandal.

“You sure this is the right thing, though?”  When Anne first mentioned Infidelity to me, I balked. The whole concept was crazy shady. What would the press do if they found out I hired an exclusive, highly paid escort to pretend to be my girlfriend just to wipe away the rumors of me being a rapist?

Fuck. I pulled my hands down my face. How in the hell did my life turn into this?

The bell dinged right as Anne's foreboding words echoed the ring in my ears.

“Buttercup, this is the only thing that can save you now.”

The bitch of it is, she was right.

“Let’s just get this over with.” As soon as the doors slid open, I stepped into the doorway and was immediately met with a tiny, lithe brunette rushing right into my chest before I could bring my hands up to stop her.

“Oh, shit,” I grunted from the impact and reached for her, but her phone went flying and she was on her ass, sprawled out in front of me before I could grab her.

Damn. A glance at the lobby told me no one noticed. I quickly squatted to help her up. If anyone saw me, a woman at my feet, knees spread wide from her fall, it’d be on tabloid covers in hours.

“Are you okay?” I asked, holding out my hand.

She glanced up, eyes on my hands and as if she recognized me from my knuckle tattoos alone. Her eyes widened, skin paled, and mouth opened.

She dragged her gaze up my arm until our gazes met. Holy fuck she was beautiful.

I almost fell to my own ass from the impact of her beauty. Rich, chocolate eyes, framed by long, brushed to the side bangs and held back with a clip. Hair almost as dark as her eyes. I had a full view of her alabaster skin as if it’d been untouched from the sun for her entire lifetime.

I could never resist a pretty face staring at me in awe. It was part of the thrill of being famous, part of the ego from being a man. We liked being appreciated and didn’t care if it was about our looks.

“Can I help you up?” I asked, unable to stop a smirk stretching my lips.

God, she was fucking hot. My dick took notice. She placed her hand in mine and I pulled her to her feet, my jeans growing uncomfortably tight.

Damn it.

“Thank you, Mr. Allistor,” she said.

Something about her tone made my smile fall. “And you are?”

Like I’d asked her to divulge state secrets, her awed expression went blank. She bent down, grabbed her phone, and tossed it into her purse without looking at me. “None of your business.”

She brushed her hair off the shoulder of her deep gray, short-sleeved dress, and straightened.

A chase. I liked it more than I should.

Next to me, Anne cleared her throat revealing her impatience. But fuck her. Fuck Infidelity and all it implied. I wanted this one.

“I’d like it to be.”

She looked at me then, eyes narrowed and shook her head. In the most beautiful, soft and silky Southern drawl, she said, “I apologize for bumping into you Mr. Allistor—”

“Liam,” I all but snapped. I hated being called Mr. Anything. Fucking hell, I was twenty-eight, not fifty. Society demanded it but I didn’t care for societal expectations any more than I cared for being wrongly accused of rape.

Based on the expression this girl was now shooting me, she’d obviously heard.

“Liam, then.” She nodded once. God, she was completely unruffled by me, and I still felt knocked on my ass. “I apologize for running into you, I should have been paying attention.”

“It was my fault,” I said, stepping closer. “And you deserve an apology from me. Let me take you to lunch.”

“We have a meeting, Liam.” Anne clipped her words with a vicious hint to them. I knew better than to ignore it, but fuck. This woman.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the woman. She was still standing there, not looking at me, but over my shoulder. But I was the asshole standing in her way, essentially blocking her from going anywhere. “Tell me your name. I’ll call you when I’m done with my meeting. I’ll buy you a drink as an apology.”

“No, thank you.” She stepped to the side and stared straight ahead.

Irritation spiked in my veins. I’d bet my millions that a year ago, she’d react differently to me. Goddamn I was screwed.

“Have a good meeting, and my apologies, again.” She scurried away, not looking at me, and my eyes stayed glued to the sway of her small but rounded ass until she turned the corner.

Anne’s fingers wrapped around my wrist and she yanked me into the elevator.

“Focus, Liam.”

“Oh, I’m focused,” I grumbled, adjusting myself and earning a roll of the eye from Anne.

“You’re an idiot,” Anne said.

I felt like one so I didn’t argue. As the doors closed and the elevator lifted, I tried to put that woman out of my mind.

I’d probably never see her again, not in a city the size of New York. And since I didn’t have her name, there was no way to get in contact with her, but fuck if I didn’t want to. She was sexy. A bit sassy. Absolutely perfect.

The idea of some classy woman like her—my assumption based on the way she was dressed—already having judged me for something I didn’t fucking do in the first place made my blood boil.

I at least wanted to set her straight.

“Forget about her, Liam.”

“Done,” I lied. Anne was right. If I needed to set up a new image, some chick off the street —or sprawled on a marble floor—wasn’t the way to go.

The image of her though, brown, wavy hair just below her shoulders, pulled back, and those eyes, the thick long lashes I knew weren’t fake came to mind and I adjusted my hard dick, growling at myself in the mirror.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered.

Anne snorted. “No thanks.”

 

***

 

 

“Mr. Allistor,” Karen Flores held out her hand to me as soon as Anne and I stepped off the elevator. “So lovely to meet you and have you here at Infidelity. Please, come inside, and have a seat in my office while we talk.”

“Liam, please. And thank you for meeting me,” I said, lying through my teeth and shaking her hand. While Anne and Karen said their hellos and Karen gestured for us to follow her into her office, my gaze caught on something on the receptionist’s desk and my steps stalled.

The brunette.

One simple picture frame sat on the receptionist’s desk. It was of the brunette wrapped in the arms of two adults. They were on a beach and holy shit I hadn’t been wrong earlier. She was wearing a bright, yellow and white striped one-piece suit, cut outs revealing the sides of her waist. Her hair blew in the wind behind her, and her smile almost blinded me.

Gorgeous.

“Liam?”

Anne’s voice grabbed my attention. I swung around to see both women in the doorway to Karen’s office.

“Yeah?”

She arched her perfectly manicured black brows into sharp points. “Meeting. Coming?”

I glanced back at the photo and tapped the top of the empty desk once. “Oh yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Karen said, once she was settled behind her desk and Anne and I were sitting in two chairs on the opposite side.

I decided to spare her the spiel and sell me on Infidelity. I was in. All in.

“If Anne wants me to do this, I want her.” I pointed my thumb in the direction outside her office.

Karen flinched and then frowned. “I’m sorry. Excuse me?”

“Her. The woman who works at that desk. If I have to do this shit for a year, I want that woman.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Allistor—”

“Liam.”

From Anne’s chair, the heat of her glare was searing. If she could set me on fire with her eyes alone, I’d already be a pile of ash.

It was rare I was this difficult, but this was also my life they were fucking with, and damn it, I should be able to decide something about this next year of ridiculousness.

“I’m sorry, Liam. Claudia is my assistant, she’s not an employee available for clients. So, if you don’t mind, let’s get started and I’ll explain what Infidelity can do for you.”

And now I had a name. Claudia. I rolled it around on my lips silently. A bit exotic, a bit classic, a bit sassy. It fit her perfectly.

I sat in my seat like the good little boy Karen and Anne expected me to be and pretended to listen. For the next hour, Karen gave the entire spiel of her company. We were only referred by former clients and the only reason Anne knew of the place was much to my jaw-dropping shock, she’d once been an employee. That was how she met her husband, Don.

“You fucking serious?” I said, unable to hide my surprise. “You did this?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that Infidelity is the best choice for you here, Liam. You just never listen.”

Not true. I listened all the time. To my manager and my band and my songwriter and hell…all I did some days was listen to other people telling me how to live my life.

“I’m sure I would have remembered you telling me you met your husband ten years ago because he paid you twenty grand a month.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a heave. The only sign she usually gave she was at her limit of patience with me. “And it’s not something I can talk about or would. It was none of your business until now, and…I couldn’t. Like you will do, all employees and clients sign a nondisclosure, limiting how much knowledge we can give until we know someone who can benefit from Infidelity’s prestigious services.”

Other than my own parents’ marriage, I’d never seen anyone make such a perfectly matched couple until I met Anne and Don. Realizing this was how she met him, gave me hope this could work.

For a year. That’s all this was. One very expensive publicity stunt.

“Fine,” I said, turning back to Karen. “I can buy into this. So what happens next?”

She grinned and opened a tablet, tapped a few buttons and slid the screen across her desk. In front of me was what looked like a basic questionnaire, until I realized it was twenty-three pages long.

“Holy shit.”

“At Infidelity, we’re thorough. We match you with a client based on preferences we think will be most successful. So while you complete this, I’ll go grab everyone some water, or a drink of something else if you’d prefer?”

I waved her off. I didn’t need anything and I wasn’t filling this out.

“Fill it out,” Anne said once Karen left the room. “They’ll do a good job, I promise you. They’ll choose someone who won’t care about your status or who you are, and someone who can easily fit into your lifestyle, Liam. I wouldn’t steer you wrong about this.”

Her bottom line was as much at stake in this as was my career. Not for the first time, irritation exploded inside me, making my skin tight and the roots of my hair burn on my scalp.

“I don’t even get a choice in who I’m shackled with?”

She had to be kidding. Somehow, they’d glossed over this important piece of information.

“Like we said, Liam…”

“No.” I slashed my hand through the air and shoved the tablet aside. “I will not have my life, my girlfriend, dictated to me. I get why this, in general, is a good idea, but I’m not having some stranger thrust into my life and I’m just expected to trust her.”

“The nondisclosure—”

I tugged at my hair and all but shouted, “I don’t give a fuck about the NDA. I didn’t even do anything wrong, Anne, and this is bullshit. If you want me to do this, then I get to choose. And I choose Claudia.”

And why did I fucking care? Why was I so hung up on some pretty girl who crashed into me and looked like she hated me the next second?

Because she didn’t fawn. She was stubborn. She refused me her name. Maybe I was fascinated because she was new and different. Maybe her glossy shine would wear off and she’d end up being just like every other woman I’d been with.

I didn’t care. I wanted something, and damn it, I should be able to get it. One damn thing. I had a life constantly being dictated to me, but no one was going to tell me who I could, or who I could not fucking date for crying out loud. I was paying enough money to be able to have a say.

“Karen said she’s not an employee.”

Anne’s tone turned patronizing. She spoke calmly and slowly, lowering her voice like my mom used to do when I was on the verge of trouble.

I glared at her. “Then do your fucking job and talk her into it.”

The door to the office opened and Karen walked in with three bottles of water and paused. Her gaze darted back and forth between Anne and me. “Everything okay?”

I pushed off the chair and stood. “I need to use the restroom.” Glaring at Anne, I repeated. “Do your damn job.”